The Taste of Blood
by SuperiorLyrebird
Summary: **ON HIATUS** The battle for Hogwarts is over. Hermione is captured and all seems lost.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All credit for characters and world belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling. Otherwise, plot is mine. :)**

**Authors Note: Be warned, this is dark.**

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><p>Her eyes opened with a tremulous flicker as she assessed the damage nearby. Surrounding her was crumbled stone and masonry, bodies strewn about like carelessly discarded marionettes, and blood. There was so much blood. As her eyes began to focus memories came back to her in a sudden onslaught, unforgiving and cold.<p>

She had fallen from a direct hit with a curse from an unknown hooded adversary and been left for dead among the rubble. Evaluating her surroundings, she realized she was slumped against a crumbling banister of the curved stairs in the entryway to the castle. Crashes and shouts boomed nearby but from which direction she could not ascertain.

Craning her neck to try and find the origin of the din, a viscous, warm fluid obstructed her vision. It was then the now familiar metallic scent overwhelmed her olfactory bulbs causing her eyesight to waver. Ever since the day Ron had splinched himself, the smell of blood made her ill.

She tried to bring her hand up to mop her eyes clear of the blood when she belatedly realized her arm had not responded. Turning her eyes to her right arm, she saw an additional bend in her arm half way between her wrist and her elbow draped over a large chunk of what used to be the stair's handrail. Her arm must have shattered on impact but she couldn't feel the fracture. Shock she imagined was the culprit.

Using her other hand, she wiped her eyes clear, grazing over a gash in her forehead. It didn't feel deep and she knew head wounds always bled an alarming amount so she put it out of her mind. She needed to know what had happened since she had gone unconscious.

Reaching behind her, she pulled herself upright, her dominant arm hanging loosely at her side. Stepping towards the source of the noise, her foot slipped a little and looking down she saw a wand. It wasn't hers but scanning the floor quickly, she realized hers was not in sight.

She grabbed the wand hastily and swung herself back up again. The jerking movement jostled her arm sending red-hot waves of pain coursing through her. A yelp instinctively was ripped from her as her vision faded to black and refocused as the pain receded. Biting down hard on her lip she took her useless arm and guided it into the stomach pocket of her muggle hooded jumper. The pain from the movement caused her stomach to attempt to release its contents, but she couldn't remember the last time she had ate. Quickly, the dry heaves subsided. Hopefully for now that would keep her arm meta-stable.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH," rang through the hall from the direction of the Great Hall where the enormous wooden doors were dangling slackly from their hinges.

That was Mrs. Weasley's yell she recognized and with a start, rushed towards the source.

As she entered the hall, her eyes scanned the chaos just in time to find a mop of brilliant orange hair blasting Bellatrix Lestrange to dust. Her cheer choked in her throat as an inhuman cry echoed through the room. She froze as all other movement in the room died away turning to look for the source of the otherworldly sound.

There at the front of the hall on the teacher's dais was Harry standing tall with his wand pointed directly at Voldemort whose crimson eyes snapped away from the disintegration of his most loyal follower to the bedraggled boy in front of him. The room went silent as the two began to circle.

She could see the calm determination in his eyes; the same courage had shone from him since he had taken on a mountain troll for her. He began to speak but was cut off unexpectedly.

The next scene happened too fast, she hardly could tell what occurred first. Voldemort's mouth curled into a malevolent grin as jet of piercing green light erupted from his wand. Harry was brilliant at dueling but had never conquered wordless magic. His words halted and his slight frame crumpled to the floor. It seemed as if the whole world had stopped its spinning.

There was a maniacal cackle and then quiet as Harry, her precious Harry, was hoisted limply into the air. All eyes followed his lifeless body, not a soul able to move. All she could do was stare in horror as her best friend was raised up and cruelly displayed for all to see.

His glasses slid off his nose and almost in slow motion fell to the ground. The room was so silent, the 'plink' of shattering glass was audible to all.

Then the hush broke with a desperate wail. A swish of radiant red hair, Ginny, erupted from the crowd screaming for vengeance. With a cry like a crazed banshee, she got as far as the step to the platform before she fell to her knees, a beam of green light hitting her square in the chest. She hadn't even fully raised her wand.

The world resumed spinning in that moment as a brigade of redheads stormed forward. Percy, the closest, was the first to fall to the green light followed by Mr. Weasley and Charlie. The rest stopped charging after that, Mrs. Weasley who a moment ago was triumphant was now cowering over the still frame of her husband.

Then he spoke, his shrill voice magically resonating through the high ceilinged room.

_"Stop your assault and your Lord will be merciful. No more magical blood should be spilt; it is a waste of the chosen race. Stop the fight and I will allow you of to live. Cease now or I will be forced to annihilate you."_

"Bloody hell we will," an all too familiar voice intoned. "FOR HARRY!" the voice shouted and pulled her out of shock. Until that moment she had been frozen by the door and at the battle cry she lurched forward.

"NO! RON, NOO!" a scream stabbed the air, unknowingly coming from deep within her.

In that moment, he turned looking for the source of her voice a buoyant sincere smile gracing his freckled face. He had seen her fall, he had thought she was dead and the light of hope filled his blue eyes.

Then in an instant his face contorted to shock as his moment of distraction led to his death.

Ron fell in a heap and with an animalistic howl Hermione's heart was ripped from her chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All credit for characters and world belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling. Otherwise, plot is mine. :)**

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><p>A cold hand forced her chin up to stare into his eyes. She had been locked in the dungeon, trussed and hauled off in the minutes after Ron had selfishly left her. She hadn't struggled; she'd been too far gone to realize what was happening.<p>

Rough hands had dragged her into an empty room. The only things inside here were chains and her logical mind briefly imagined this was the room Filch used to use for his short time running the disciplinary procedures before lapsing back into fog.

She had been slapped in cuffs and magically restrained, though with her broken arm, she would have been hardly able to resist even if she wanted too. Her back was to the wall facing the door. The unknown wand had been taken away and she had been left alone. Until he had entered, her mind had been unfeelingly blank

Empty brown eyes met muted red ones. Here in the dank greenish light of the dungeons, his pale translucent skin gave off an ethereal glow. This close to his face she could see the spider webbing of blue that fed his blood back to the void in his chest where a human heart would reside.

_"Ahh __the __mudblood __friend __of __the __dead __Harry __Potter,"_ his voice hissed out lingering viciously at the word dead and slithering in one of her ears and out the other causing her skin to break out in goose flesh. His eyes searched hers and she stared blankly back, visions of her beloved Ron crumpling to the floor playing over and over in her mind.

A prickly sensation pushed at her senses and withdrew quickly as he snorted in disgust, dropping her chin.

_"You desired the blood traitor, I can see it in your mind,"_ he spat, _"A mudblood and a blood traitor, the brains and brawn behind The Boy Who Lived's lucky life, creating nasty little offspring. How utterly revolting,"_ he mocked, eliciting nothing from her other than her head drooping back down, her eyes glazing over in grief.

_"You will look at your Lord when he speaks to you,"_ he hissed, painfully wrenching her chin back up to meet his eyes, this time filled with a fiery anger.

Her head lolled to the side, only supported by his long reptilian fingers. She had no will to live anymore. Ron was gone. Harry was gone. The world was over. She just wanted to die as well. Maybe then she would see them again.

"Kill me," she whispered, pleading, her voice gravelly from disuse and unshed emotion.

At this, he dropped his hand again, her head falling limply to touch her chest. She saw his feet turn and stalk away and then quickly return.

In an instant, his hands were gripping her chin again, cutting off her trachea's ability to take in air but not quite with enough force to end things for her. Turning her head forcefully to the side she watched from her peripheral vision as he drew closer to her, close enough to touch his mouth to her ear, his hot breath puffing and warming the side of her face.

_"You repulse me. You are a vile, abhorrent creature and even touching you makes my very skin burn. Your veins run full of dirt and you taint the power of magic by your existence but no, I will not kill you. You could be of use in more ways than one. Instead, I will tell you something very few know. I myself, the eminent Lord Voldemort, had filthy scum for a father. The foul swine was a muggle, undeserving of my mother's attention or infatuation. But see, even you lowly beasts have a purpose. Without him, I would not be alive so in the end his short life was permissible. Somehow, you nauseating mudblood were the key to keeping my return at bay for so many years. I am brilliant and I was not fooled. Your admittedly impressive intelligence saved Potter and kept him alive this long so I believe I'll do the same for you, at least for a time. Potter needed to be exterminated and the redhead was useless. Maybe you'll be of use to me. Plus despite being vermin, you are not…difficult to look at,"_ he whispered into her ear, his voice causing her to violently shiver, draining her of warmth aside from where his breath hit.

Then he opened his mouth she thought perhaps to speak again. Yet instead, he bit down hard on the lobe of her ear. With a startled cry, she shook, unable to pull away due to the chains. The abrupt movement shifted her arm and her mouth pulled open into a hoarse scream of throbbing as her nervous system throbbed with pain once again.

Pulling back, he watched in amusement and then looked at her appraisingly, blood staining his thin lips. Her blood was dripping down the side of her chin. He lifted a thin finger to the rivulet of blood flowing from her ear and pulled away, his finger smeared with red despite her cringing away from his touch. Then he brought his finger to his lips and licked it off slow. She was surprised to see his tongue was not forked.

_"Fascinating,"_ he murmured more to himself to her.

Then leaning in close again, he placed his hand on her waist and the other gently brought her chin back up to meet his eyes. He was scant inches from her face.

_"You __don't __taste __of __mud._"

And with that, he licked the blood from her cheek leaving a slimy trail. With a merciless smirk he pulled away and swept from the room, the door clanging shut behind him and her bonds opening.

Left alone, she slumped into the wall sliding down into a ball on the floor with a sob. Cradling her destroyed arm she huddled on the ground, he body shaking with anguish and fright. The only thing that has just kept her upright were the shackles around her wrists.

The tears flowed thick and fast down her cheeks mixing with mucous, the blood from her forehead and ear and his wretched saliva. Minutes, maybe hours passed as the tears ran dry. For a long time after she just stared at the cobblestoned ground in front of her, unable to control her thoughts which reeled about. Somehow amidst it all, her mind drifted off to oblivion.

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><p><strong>Authors Note: I'm having writer's block problems with my other story Old Friends and so freewriting created this. I'm dark and twisty, I know. I have more written but my continuation will be based on reader's discretion and reviews!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All credit for characters and world belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling. Otherwise, plot is mine. :)**

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><p>Murmuring a spell, he pushed open the heavy door. The room was chilly and smelled of mildew.<p>

"Lumos," he whispered, reluctant to raise his voice. No one knew he was down here and he was liable to be killed if he was found. As his wand tip ignited, he turned and closed the door behind him, magically sealing it again.

As he turned back to evaluate the room, it took him a moment to find what he was looking for. There along the back wall was the dark shape of a person and he approached as quietly as he could and crouched down in front of her.

The shape moved ever so slightly and he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. She was still breathing.

As carefully as he could, he rearranged her into a sitting position, laying his wand next to him on the ground so he could use both of his hands. She barely stirred at his touch and that alone terrified him. In the pale light he could hardly make out her features as her face and hair were matted with grime. When she was propped up against the wall, her legs stretched in front of her, he assessed the damage. Her lip was split, there was an oozing gash on her forehead and there was a trail of dried grime coming from under her hair by her ear.

He realized dimly that the filth she was covered in what appeared to be her own blood. The poor lighting made the blood look black and a small voice in the back of his head suggested that perhaps mudbloods really did have dirty blood. He shook the thought away with annoyance and disgust. That kind of thinking had gotten them all here and poisoned his mind before he could even be given the chance to make his own opinions. He had been taught from a young age what to think, when to think it, and above all else, not to question what he was told. The memories of his upbringing and where it had landed his family made him irrationally angry so he pushed them away. Now wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity. Redirecting his attention, he began to tend to the girl in front of him.

The black stains on her face, neck and clothing were from injuries and it dawned on him that she was barely breathing. Reaching out, he put his index and middle finger on her pulse point at her neck.

There it was, slow and determined. Her heart was beating and her breathing was weak but she was still there. Thank Merlin, he thought unconsciously. He withdrew his fingers and sat cross-legged next to her, moving his wand to between his foot and his knee so that the light aimed up to her face. The smell of mildew and blood, the shadows and the sight of her mangled body made him shudder.

It wasn't supposed to end like this, he thought filled with rage. Bloody Potter was supposed to win. He was supposed to have killed Voldemort and saved them all, but the selfish bastard and gone and gotten himself killed. Twice. And here the survivors were, barely hanging on and paying dearly for it.

"Gods, Granger. Not so bloody perfect now, are you?" he murmured aloud, resentment coloring his voice as he began pulling her hair away from her face, wincing as it tugged free from the dried blood the was crusted everywhere. When he had pulled all the hair away he murmured a spell he had heard his mother use and watched as it all piled on the top of her head, knotting itself. The thought of his mother made him wince.

Now that the godforsaken bushy-ass hair was out of the way he could see the full extent of the injuries on her face. The cuts stood out in stark relief but what really alarmed him was what he hadn't noticed before. Her nose was flattened, clearly broken thought from what he did not know. The trail of blood down her neck traced up to her ear where there was a clear bite mark on the lobe.

With revulsion, he leapt up and away from her comatose body. _He_ had been here already. _He_ had touched her and marked her. _He_ had bitten her. With a rush, his stomach surged and he vomited, once…twice until it subsided into coughing. He wiped his mouth with a grunt and vanished the sick and turned back to the broken girl, sitting back in his position.

A closer look showed the faint beginning of finger print bruises formed around her delicate neck.

"Granger, what did _he_ do to you?" he asked and with a sigh set about healing her. He couldn't remember where he picked up the knowledge to heal, he just remember that it always fascinated him when his mother had kissed away his childhood scrapes and bruises and with a single word they had faded away.

"Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanenteur, vulnera sanentur," he chanted thrice and watched at even the deepest of gashes began to knit together.

"Episkey," he said and cringed when her nose popped back into place with an audible crunch.

"Tergeo," he sighed and the dried and fresh blood began to fade as if being rubbed away.

He looked over the rest of her body, with care and noticed her arm had an additional sickening bend. Broken bones weren't something he knew how to fix but when he had fallen in the garden once, his mother had used some spell to splint it until they got to St. Mungos.

"Ferula," he intoned, praying it was the right spell and watched with relief as a splint appeared out of nowhere, righting her arm and binding it into immobility. With a glance back at her face, he was happy to see that the scowl of pain had faded into a look of peace.

Ruffling through his robe pockets, he pulled out a small brown bottle and unstoppered it. With careful fingers, he applied the dittany over the healing wounds. His spells would fix them but would still scar. He hoped this would eliminate that.

He couldn't imagine her pretty face marred with the ugly scars of torture. He had never been a fan of hers. Then he scoffed and snorted aloud. That was putting it nicely. He had loathed her since the day they had met.

She has been bossy, loud, obnoxious and a generally a brown-nosing little shit. Then it had made him hate her. Now with the clarity of growing up and seeing the true evil in the world, he could admit he was just exceedingly envious. If she hadn't been in his year he would have paid no mind to her at all. But since she was often in his classes, he never got the glory of getting the top marks, which made her his enemy. Sure, he had hated Potter and Weasel but they were harmless and stupid. She was the threat and once she was befriended into the trio she became unmercifully confident when before she was just mousy and holier-than-thou.

It wasn't even until the summer after his first year that he had learned what the word mudblood meant and that Granger was one. After a particularly brutal lecture from his father about being disappointed in him for being bested by a filthy mudblood, his petty hatred of her was fanned into a flame of revulsion. After eleven years of being raised in a house where the word muggle was synonymous with scum it couldn't be helped. What he wouldn't give to go back with all the knowledge he had now; to just be able to tell his eleven year old self that there was no difference between muggles and magical folk aside from ignorance and to stay aloof from the prejudices because just look where they had led him. Shaking the anger away, he went back to his application of the dittany extract.

He shifted his position and watched as the drops began to erase the marks. Easing her out of her sweatshirt, he blushed slightly as it revealed a thin camisole out of which a pale pink bra peaked. He was trying to help and didn't want her to wake and see him as a threat, or worse a pervert. Looking away hurriedly, he searched for more marks to fix. Flipping her arms over he put a few drops on the scrapes on the palm of her hands and scanned upward. His gag reflux rose again as he saw a word carved into her forearm.

"Mudblood," he mouthed as he traced the pink scars.

The arm flinched as he traced and the movement startled him. Looking up suddenly he saw her eyes open and staring at him.

There was no trace of recollection in the mud brown eyes. They were empty: devoid of feeling and thought. But she didn't pull away, just looked down to where his fingers were still on her forearm. Then she looked back up at him and stared. After a few seconds, something in her eyes flickered and sharpened.

Recognition flashed through her eyes followed by a myriad of emotions until her eyes flat lined to apathy. She didn't say a word, didn't struggle, and didn't move. She just stared off into the distance in an uncomfortable chilling manner.

He opened his mouth to try to speak. No words came out at first but after a few times of clearing his throat and coughing, he managed to stammer, "What did _he_ do to you?"

Her eyes flicked back to his briefly and then away again. She didn't answer.

"Damn it Granger, what the hell did you let _him_ do to you?" he roared, forgetting the need for secrecy and silence. Anger flooded over him like a wave, unrelenting and surged through him. She didn't even look at him this time.

He realized he had tightened his grip on her wrist. He looked down, shocked, and released her. White bloomed in the shape of his fingerprints traced with red and faded. Then he started sobbing.

Sinking his head into his hands, his sobs wracked his body but no sound escaped from his mouth aside from his labored breathing. He cried for his sham of a life, for his dead godfather, for his friend and family. He cried for the evaporation of his hopes that had disappeared as the scrawny green-eyed git had hit the floor. He cried for this girl sitting in front of him who he had hated for as long as he had known her who was practically a living corpse.

Eventually his sobs lessened to hiccups and he mopped his face off angrily. It wasn't like him to loose control but it was all so hopeless. He looked up to see her looking at him. No empathy in her eyes, no compassion or life. Her eyes were dull and vacant. It freaked him out. He needed to get out of here.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran out the door of the room, ignoring the pins and needles in his legs from sitting for so long. Not caring if the door slammed behind him and not caring who saw, he ran and ran until he realized he couldn't breathe anymore and he collapsed. His feet had taken him outside to the ground that were empty but for signs of carnage and devastation. He lay in the grass not caring if it was soaked with blood or dew. Nothing mattered anymore. _He_ had won and all his dreams for the future were gone. Gripping his left forearm he fervently wished things were different realizing the mark was searing his flesh. _He_ was calling but in the only show of revolt that he could muster he didn't move. Draco Malfoy laid there, her empty eyes haunting him as his mind faded into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: All credit for characters and world belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling. Otherwise, plot is mine. :)**

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><p>His eyes opened suddenly to an enormous expanse of blue and indescribably pain in his left forearm. It seems his disobedience had been noticed. He slowly hauled himself up, his muscles shaking with the effort, the lack of food and his choice of sleeping arrangements.<p>

He was soaked in morning dew and his once white shirt was brown with stained blood. He shivered in revulsion and pulled his wand out to clean it quickly.

He raked the hair back from his eyes as his forearm seared again. Time to go find the monster he supposed. He was terrified.

He walked back in the school and was met by a chilling laugh.

"_Ah Mr. Malfoy. Just the person I've been looking for,_"Voldemort hissed raising the hair on the back of Draco's neck.

Draco looked up but avoided eye contact.

"_Follow me, Draco,_" and instead of waiting for a reply, he beckoned with his wand. Draco was robbed of his free will of motion as his legs trudged forward on Voldemort's command. Catcalls and jeers echoed in the entryway until they were hushed by a furious command from the Dark Lord.

"_Silence or you're next,_" he commanded and a few of his more cowardly servants slinked away in fear while the others watched, holding their tongues.

Draco unwillingly trudged after Voldemort into the Great Hall his thoughts filled with what Voldemort could possibly want with him. The sight of where he once used to laugh and eat with friends transformed into this post battle scene made his heart pound.

With a chuckle, Voldemort hissed, "_I see you like what your Lord has done with the place._"

Draco recoiled when he realized Voldemort had invaded his mind and he hadn't even noticed it. Immediately he threw up defenses. If the Dark Lord didn't already know about his visit to Hermione he would find out soon if Draco didn't protect himself.

"_I see you are now shutting your Lord out. And successfully I might add._" Voldemort hummed in amusement. "_Your Lord is impressed and that's the sort of strength needed to rebuild our ranks. Come, Draco,_" he ordered and dragged him to the front where the teachers sat.

The hall was destroyed; large chucks of masonry had been ripped from the wall, the school banners had been torn down except for the Slytherins', and the school tables had been pushed to line the walls. People were seated at the benches and he recognized the majority as being gloating Death Eaters who were watching the procession toward the front of the hall.

The most horrifying addition the hall was in the center where a pile of bodies lay. His stomach heaved and he forced himself to look away. He didn't want to see the faces of those who had been killed for fear of how many he'd know.

So he unwillingly continued to the front of the hall where Voldemort seated himself in Dumbledore's chair. Snape had rarely filled the seat in the past year and Malfoy had never associated the headmaster position with his godfather. He knew somewhere, maybe instinctually that his godfather had not been _his_ willing stooge.

Malfoy was forced onto his knees on the floor at Voldemort's feet, facing the heap of the dead. His eyes sunk to the floor as he focused on avoiding looking up.

His forearm burned again and he imagined Voldemort was summoning the rest of his followers. Then his voice erupted from him, magically resonating through the castle and grounds as it had last night.

"_Come one, come all as I, your Lord deign to deliver justice. Every living person is to be in the Great Hall in five minutes. If you do not come you shall be found and killed swiftly for I know the number of the living. Bring the prisoners._"

And then Draco heard the creak of the chair as Voldemort sat back and waited. People trickled into the hall, the Death Eater's marching in proudly, and the survivors attempting to hold themselves with dignity only to be spat at or heckled by the ranks of the Dark Lords followers. Many of the survivors looked up at where Draco kneeled with revulsion or interest and Draco dropped his eyes once more to the floor not even sneaking glances through his lashes at the door.

Would _he_ have called for Hermione as well? If not who else was he holding prisoner? And where were his parents? He hadn't seen them since he slipped away last night. Thoughts spun through Draco's mind until a muffled shriek filled the air and he looked up reflexively.

There was his mother and father, bound and gagged, being led into the room by two hooded Death Eaters. It seems his mother had seen him kneeling here and had tried to pull away. He watched in horror as her captor shook her roughly and his father tried to ignore her, looking away in disdain. His scant hold on his stomach crumpled as he saw his mother and he began to retch for all to see. Nothing came up for he hadn't eaten in quite awhile and there was nothing for him to vomit up. His gaze fell back to the floor until a magical force pulled up his chin. He saw a disturbingly feral grin peripherally on the face of Voldemort as the rest of the prisoners were led into the room and forced into kneeling positions facing him and the Dark Lord.

Each person was bound and gagged. Aside from his parents were most of his old professors from school. He saw Flitwick, Trelawney, McGonagall, Slughorn, Sprout and others he had never taken classes with. The oaf Hagrid was bound from head to toe in rope and had been levitated in and was being held by three masked Death Eaters in the back of the room, blocking the exit for all. The rest of the prisoners were his peers though he only recognized Longbottom and the blonde, Looney, Luna. Whatever her name was.

Everyone else hovered along the walls in the back of the room while the Death eaters stood closer to the front of the room. The survivors looked fearful and nervous while the Death Eaters exchanged banter and laughter that defiled the tomb like feeling of the room.

"_Silence,_" Voldemort commanded as the people began to still.

"_Your Lord has brought you all here to witness justice being done. Your Lord is merciful but traitors must be punished as an example to all. I will not tolerate betrayal in my ranks. Many of you see Draco here; not a terribly bright boy but he has been useful. However, he comes from traitorous stock._"

His followers laughed and jeered until a hiss from the Dark Lord brought the room back to stillness. Draco avoided looking up. His mind numbed and he had a feeling as to the direction where this was going.

"_I tell you this because I want all to know that your Lord can forgive but will never forget failure and disobedience. Lucius, come forward,_" Voldemort commanded and crooked his index finger at a now quivering Mr. Malfoy whose face held a weak look of contempt but his shaking betrayed his fear. At the beckoning, Draco watched as his father slid forward on his knees to cower at _his_ feet.

"_Lucius here failed me many times yet I forgave him because he was still somewhat useful. He granted me full access to his home and treasures, yet now that I have Hogwarts I no longer need his…gracious hosting. He let personal items of mine into unquestionable danger and cowered instead of helping me rise, just as he is doing now._"

Muffled whispers circulated among Voldemort's followers, while those in the back of the room were motionless.

With a flash of green light, Lucius crumpled to the floor and an inhuman screech came from Narcissa as tears streamed down her face, her eyes flickering from Lucius to Draco to the Dark Lord.

"_As I said, I can forgive but even my leniency is limited in the face of treachery,"_ Voldemort mocked and stifled chuckles of fear added to the sound of his mother sobbing on the floor.

Draco still didn't look up. He had flinched when his father has slumped to the floor, but he kept his eyes cast downward to hide the tears silently rolling down his cheeks. He had hated this man his father had become but still, it was his father and Lucius hadn't always been mad. There were years when Draco was young that they had acted like father and son at least in a formal and stilted way. Draco always thought that was how all father's acted until his first time on the Platform 9 ¾ when he had seen the Weasely clan's father picking Ron up and hugging him goodbye. It wasn't until that moment that he began to wonder why his father never showed him any affection. His thoughts broke off as _he_ began to speak again.

"_Must your Lord keep asking for silence?"_ Voldemort intoned quietly, yet was heard throughout the hall. A deathly silence followed leaving only the sound of his mother's quiet sobbing.

"_Ahh Narcissa, please. Come forward,"_ Voldemort said, almost sympathetically.

Draco glanced through his lashes silently willing his mother to get up. If she obeyed she would live. Please, god, let her live he prayed in his mind. But it was as if his mother hadn't heard the command. She was crumpled in a heap on the floor, her slight body shaking from the force of her grief.

"_Your Lord said move," _and with a quiet scuffle that echoed in the silent hall, Narcissa was dragged to her feet and hauled forward by the hooded Death Eaters.

Now Draco looked up and watched as his beloved mother stood in front of the snake. She had stopped crying, her breathing shallow and her eyes cold and empty meeting the red ones of her husband's murderer. Please don't do anything stupid, Draco prayed fervently of his mother.

"_Ah Narcissa. Once a lovely young woman full of promise and talent turned into a pitiful trophy wife of the Malfoy clan. How your talents have been wasted and depleted over the years,"_ Voldemort hissed with a smile. Narcissa didn't blink, merely met his eyes with a quiet fury he had never seen his mother posess.

"_Yet even after all these years, your talents as an actress have never faded. Your Lord knows what you did in the forest. I know how you lied and I know why. See, as clever as you may think you were, your Lord is infinitely cleverer."_

At that, Voldemort leered at him and his mother noticed the change of his gaze. Her eyes swept toward him in a flash of terror. What had happened in the forest?

"_You perhaps were the most treacherous of all. How I hate to waste pureblood but since you are past the prime of childbearing, you can do nothing to restore our ranks. I have no use of you, just like I had no further use for your pathetic husband,"_ Voldemort said, fiddling with his wand thoughtfully.

Draco knew, in his heart, what was about to happen and his soul cried out for his mother to run, fight, do anything. But she stood there, her eyes calculating. A final glance at Draco was full of longing and beseeching for forgiveness than she was gone in a jet of green light.

An involuntary gasp filled the room as she fell to the ground. Draco's eyes were still on hers, now dead and glassy and he felt as if his whole being was wrenched in two. He felt the gaze of _him_ on his back, but he did not let out the unbearable scream that was slowly growing inside of him. He would not give _him_ that power. So he carefully composed his gaze to that of apathy and blocked his reeling mind. His vision went blank and all he could feel was the blood roaring in his ears and the sinking of his stomach that you get when you miss a stair and almost fall.

His parents were dead. He was alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: All credit for characters and world belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling. Otherwise, plot is mine. :)**

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><p><em>With a sob she pushed the door of the bathroom open, enjoying the satisfying slamming noise it made as it crashed into the tiled wall. Half-stumbling to the mirrors, she clutched at a sink to keep her balance, breathing heavily and waiting for the tightness in her chest to fade. <em>

_She had always had a little bit of asthma as a child. Nothing to require treatment but there were times when the school yard bully had called her a rude name or when she was overwrought with emotion that her airways would betray the basic instinctual need for oxygen. _

_White shaking hands clutched the cool sink and she shivered at the feeling of a single tear sliding down to the tip of her nose and dropping into the basin, then rolling away to disappear into the drain. With a sigh she looked up._

_Bushy hair with frightfully unfortunate bangs, eyebrows that were far too dark, pale pasty skin and teeth that belonged on a beaver were the sight she was greeted with as always. The only thing that was a plus was that crying only made her eyes slightly red and never puffy. Her gaze returned to the sink and her hand reached for the small snake relief carved into the faucet that next year would be the secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets._

_But for now, she was eleven again, standing in the girl's lavatory moments before the troll would barge through the door. It always barged through the door; big, terrifying and smelly, the stupid troll had haunted her dreams since she had first laid eyes on it._

She wagered he was a metaphor for something but frankly reading into her dreams was far too like Divination, which was utter hogwash in her eyes.

_She had maybe a minute until the troll came in and she glanced back up at the mirror. Three, two, one and her visage shifted from the round face of the eleven year old girl to that of the seventeen year old girl she had become. Wide, curious, and round eyes sunk into a face carved by fear. Dark circles curled around them like the memories that lurked in the shadowy twilight of her mind, always there, but never near enough to push away. _

_Buckteeth shrank, her hair tamed marginally, and her robes faded to blue jeans and a muggle jumper. She barely had time to watch the change finish when the door banged open like it always did in this dream._

_The troll stomped in, sniffing the air, as usual and she watched with weary eyes as its beady sights set on her. In this dream, Harry and Ron didn't show up to save her. No one did. She was on her own. Every time this dream occurred, no one came to help._

Most of her dreams played out this way. Terrifying experiences she had been through yet she was forced into them without her two closest friends. They plagued her nights' sleep and yet she never told a soul. Why burden Harry with her twisted subconscious and well, Ronald would probably make a joke about it.

Her dreams were odd in ways she never had the ability to explain to others. Always in color they often felt so vivid and realistic that there were times when she would wake up and be sure that what she had seen was real. Things happened in her dreams that she'd later recall and be unable to differentiate whether they had actually occurred or not. Sometimes it unnerved her but she had learned to let the déjà vu feeling just fade away. She was gifted with a profound ability to learn so it was only natural that her overactive brain would have its downside. Nothing in life was so easy and things usually came as double-edged so she'd learned to accept these dreams that her mind tormented her with. The strangest thing was she always remembered them. She could think rationally in her dreams like she was watching her life play out but she was trapped in her own body. It was an uncomfortable feeling quite like being watched.

_Slowly she backed away from the troll as he advanced. She had to just let the dream play out. It always ended the same way. She would scream which would anger it and then he would attack. Eventually the teachers would show up. Almost as if Harry and Ron were never needed or like they never existed._

_Something differed in this dream though. Her arm tingled here and she looked at it curiously. _

In the 6 years that this dream had been reoccurring, it had never deviated.

_Holding her arm to the light she watched as the word 'mudblood' slowly carved its way into her forearm. Pink and shiny, like fresh skin, the scab just ripped away._

_Looking up, the troll morphed, like a Bogart as its form changed. It's form settled to that of Buckbeak's executioner from third year than began to rapidly shift again, this time taking the form of the dragon Harry fought forth year. Bang, dead Cedric. Bang, Wormtail. Bang, a hooded Death Eater. Bang, Bellatrix Lestrange. Bang, Scabior. Bang, Fenrir Greyback. Bang, dead Dumbledore and the shape shifting continued, killing the entire Weasley clan, Neville, Luna, her teaches, her parents, and finally Harry and Ron._

_Tears steamed down her cheeks. In all her years of dreaming they'd never been this horrid, never this real, never this terrifying._ _Her arm tingled again._

She awoke, a pair of grey eyes searching hers. She felt confused, terrified, and lost.

The unfamiliar dank light brought her mind back to the present and she was sitting in a box like room. Was this a dungeon she wondered as the grey eyes watched her carefully. Recognition hit her. They were the eyes of Draco Malfoy. What was he doing here?

Her mind reeled and went numb. Too many thoughts, too many feelings overrode her ability to compensate and like a static radio the noise crescendo-ed in her head and drowned out her ability to process.

She felt weak and faint. Nothing felt real yet everything was too real. Everything hurt and her body ached was screaming in pain. Was she still sleeping? Maybe she was because she was in an unknown location with the enemy; the grey eyes of a boy who had bullied her for years staring at her full of hate and anger. The eyes looked so familiar like she had seen him sitting in front of her before, but her mind couldn't conjure the memory to her. Maybe it was another déjà vu dream thing?

But wait, he was speaking to her now. His lips were moving but she couldn't hear a sound. He looked oddly beautiful in the green light, his pale skin translucent and almost glowing. His lips continued to move but his eyes were now downcast. She noticed his hand was lightly holding her arm, his fingers brushing the word carved into her flesh. Was that where the tingling had come from?

Then he did the oddest thing. He began to cry. She'd never seen a boy cry. Harry, the only boy she'd known who had ever had a reason to cry had shed very few tears in all her years of knowing him and Ron probably didn't possess functioning tear ducts.

But there they were, silver, almost the shade of his eyes, running in thick streams down his face. It was all so very strange. Maybe she was still dreaming? Maybe she was dead? This couldn't be real could it? Then again being dead and stuck with Malfoy wasn't comforting. Neither was the idea of dreaming of him.

The sound slowly came back and the stifled sounds of his sobs echoed in the stone room. He was muttering something. It sounded vaguely like 'they're gone.'

She looked at him curiously. What was he talking about?

"Everything's over. Everyone is gone. We lost. They're all gone," he whispered. If the room hadn't been so silent she probably wouldn't have heard him. He looked up at her and his red-rimmed eyes bored into hers.

"Talk, goddamnit!" he roared, his face shifting instantly from grief to fury.

"You were there when Harry died. You were there when _he_ killed him. _He_ tortured you. You've got bite marks on your bloody ear and here you are sitting here like the stupid useless girl like always, looking at me all cow eyed like I've gone crazy. I'm not crazy. He killed them all. Why did you let them die? Why is _he_ still alive? You were supposed to kill _him_. They weren't supposed to die. Why did you fail?" he shouted, his anger dying out by the last words, seemingly directed at her but she didn't understand what he was talking about.

His anger was frightening but somehow it didn't really seem like it was directed at her. It seemed more projection than true belief that she had done something wrong. She continued to look at him. Some part of her suggested replying but she really had nothing to say. She didn't even know what he was talking about.

His looked at her again, staring, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Don't you remember?" he asked, this time his eyes guarded.

What was he talking about? What was she supposed to remember? Why was he even here? Was this some sort of sick prank?

She closed her eyes. Harry wasn't dead. Was he? Something was telling her this was a dream until a small nagging voice caught her attention. A memory of a scream came back to her. The image of both of their bodies collapsing limply to the floor returned in a flash and something inside of her felt as if it was compressing her insides in an iron grip.

Tears began to roll down her face and Draco's hand around her arm shifted to hold her hand.

"You remember now," he commented.

She nodded. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. It was her very worst nightmare come true. It was all over and she was alone.

She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead on them. Her body seared in protest of the movement but the tears were flowing thick and fast and he was watching her. She needed to hide. Normally her hair would hide her face, but it was tied up somehow. She never really tied her hair up. Momentarily she wondered how it happened but dropped it.

She brought her hand to encircle her knees and felt the rough feeling of a splint on her right arm. She brought her head up and eyed the contraption curiously, still crying. She could hardly see through the tears but she realeased her hand from his hold and fingered the strap cautiously. Her arm had broken she remembered. Did he take care of her?

"Did you do this?" she queried, her voice barely audible.

"Yeah, it's not much but I'm no healer. You were in bad shape and I had to do something," he replied, looking away.

"Why?"

"You were going to die. You were loosing too much blood," he replied simply, haughtily.

"Would that have been so bad?" she returned automatically hardly noticing how horrible a thought it was.

"Not for you I suppose. But I don't think you'll die now. I did the best I could."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you help me?" she asked, so confused. He hated her. She hated him. Right? He was on Voldemort's side. Wasn't he? He had helped to kill Dumbledore. This must be a trap, the small voice said cautiously.

"I dunno," he replied, his eyes downcast again. "Something in me couldn't imagine a world without you. I don't even know how I found you," he said, his honesty unnerving her.

She stared at him, this boy who was staring at his lap, weaving and unweaving his long fingers together nervously. Her father would have called them piano playing hands. It was fascinating to watch them move. He looked up at her, steel eyes capturing her gaze. Instinct told her to look away but she couldn't. He looked angry again.

"Would you have rather died?" he asked quietly.

"Yes…n-…I don't know," she heard herself saying, wondering how she had lost conscious control over her speech.

"I'm sorry," he said gently, his anger fading just as quickly as it had come about, his eyes sincere.

She blinked at him. What could she say to that? She closed her eyes and her weary body relaxed slowly. She never could stand this boy so why was his presence oddly comforting. Maybe because he had helped her? She didn't remember it happening but an odd memory was playing in her mind of him sitting beside her and fixing her wounds. It was hazy but still there.

She couldn't fathom why he was helping her but she didn't question it. The worst that could happen was her dying and at the moment that thought didn't sound half bad. She knew the idea of her dying should scare her but she couldn't find the normal fear of dying that always had lived within her. There was nothing here for her anyways. And those were her last thoughts as she fell back asleep, Draco still sitting beside her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: All credit for characters and world belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling. Otherwise, plot is mine. :)**

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><p><em>She was standing in front of the mirror in the girl's bathroom again. Her eleven-year-old face stared back at her and than morphed into her current face. Her arm was splinted and her face and neck were covered with fading bruises and cuts. It seems since her dreams had new fears to play on, they were happy to add any novel and bizarre terror they could from her last few days.<em>

_She held onto the cool sink and then turned to wait for the troll to come. _

_With a squeak the door of the lavatory swung open and she instinctively cowered back towards the wall expecting the troll. However no troll arrived, instead the faces of two eleven-year-old boys looked in and her stomach plummeted. One had tousled raven hair and the other had a shock of ginger locks and freckles. No. No no no. This couldn't be happening. _

"_Hermione, are you in here?" the raven-haired one asked and she recognized the voice as Harry's pre-pubescent voice._

"_Lady, have you seen Hermione? Short, bushy brown hair, frightfully large teeth," the redhead who was Ron asked. She was too panic stricken to balk at the painfully accurate description of her eleven year old self coming from the young lips of the boy who would one day manage to hold her heart._

_They both looked expectantly at her and she realized that they didn't know or recognize her older self. Then again how could they?_

"_You need to leave here," she heard herself say hoarsely, "It's not safe."_

"_Huh? We asked about Hermione… What're you talking about? Anyways, this is Hogwarts. We're all safe here" young Ron pointed out optimistically the way only a child could._

"_You heard me, Ronald, you too Harry. Now shoo," she heard herself say and motioned for them to scat. She was more terrified than she had ever been and she wasn't sure why. She knew something terrible was going to happen. Harry and Ron were never in her dreams. Her subconscious was never that cruel. She felt guilty like she needed to spare them of what was to come. She would do anything to protect them._

"_How do you know our names?" young Ron asked, looking intimidated and slightly awed while Harry grabbed his arm and hauled him into the room letting the door bang behind him._

"_Yeah who are you and what's going on? You look like a 7th year but you're not wearing robes," Harry pointed out in the perfect image of his precocious eleven year old self._

"_Let's just say I'm a friend," she replied cryptically, dodging the question and praying they'd leave._

"_Are you in trouble?" young Harry asked, his face gaining the familiar look of determination she had seen in his eyes so many times._

"_Nothing I can't handle. Now go…please…" her voice gaining a tremor of desperation. It was too much. She knew they had handled the troll before but they just looked so young and she was scared for them. She couldn't bear to see them get hurt. _

"_H…Harry, maybe we should go," young Ron suggested, grabbing Harry's arm. "I think something bad is gonna happen and she says she can handle it."_

"_No, Ron, we have to help!" young Harry replied, pulling his hand away from Ron's now trembling grasp._

"_Please, please just go," she begged. "I can't save you!" exclaimed, her terror mounting as the door banged open again, the troll stomping in. Both Harry and Ron turned around, alarmed at the noise and they backed up to stand on either side of her along the wall._

"_I told ya so," Ron's voice called, his fear palpable. She noticed the looks of sheer terror and unadulterated excitement on their faces and her heart nearly broke. _

_The troll lumbered to the middle of the room and looked at them. Everything seemed to freeze and then he began to shape shift again, like a bogart. The form swirled and as it slowly recondensed blood red eyes peered at them. She knew those eyes and shock ran through her. He had never been in her dreams. Ever. He was her very worst fear however he'd never appeared here. _

_Adrenaline surged through her and as his corporeal form finished materializing, she leapt forward and pushed eleven year old Harry and Ron behind her. He couldn't hurt them here. She wouldn't allow it._

"_Noble effort, Miss Granger, but Lord Voldemort has no need for them," Voldemort drawled with a hiss. He extended his wand and a flash of green light blinded her momentarily. Instead of hitting her in the chest, it seemed to go through here as if she were a ghost._

_She looked around as the young versions of Harry and Ron sunk to the floor just behind her the looks of innocent excitement still on their faces._

"_How? How did you…? How could you…? I was in front of them. I was protecting them!" she screamed her fury and grief mounting._

"_Lord Voldemort has his ways," he replied with a thin lipless smile. "Time to wake up Miss Granger."_

She opened her eyes to find herself crying silently and being examined by Lord Voldemort. The way he was looking at her made her feel dirty and exposed and as he noticed her eyes open he smiled slowly.

"_I see you've responded to your summons. You even dream of the two of them. How nauseatingly heartbreaking,_" he hissed, appearing pleased. She didn't acknowledge him, her mind baffled at how he could possibly have invaded her dreams like that. She tried to block him out of her mind and looked up.

"What do you want?" she snarled as she tried to rise to her feet but realized she couldn't push herself up with her broken arm. She readjusted and stood, meeting his eyes and ignoring the protests of her wounded body.

"_Ah such insolence is dismaying,_" he replied with a tut-tut and lifted his wand subtly. Suddenly gravity felt immensely heavy like something was pushing her back down to the floor and she fell to her knees and then to all fours.

"How…?" she breathed, as the gravity made it hard to fill her lungs. She loathed that he had this kind of control but without a wand she was helpless and even if she had her wand she would have no idea how to counter his attacks. It was beyond even her knowledge. She knew that in extreme duress a wizard could inflict magic without a wand but she'd never lacked the necessary control over her magic and even if she didn't have control she doubted that she could call upon the ability spontaneously.

"_You'll find that I can do anything I want and now you're in your place, groveling before your lord, as all the impure should"_ he said, smugly.

"You're not…my lord…" she forced out with some difficulty as the pressure had yet to let up. If it kept going like this, her arm wasn't going to be able to take it she realized as the pain swelled in her right arm.

"_I see you have found a way to patch yourself up. Since you are wand less it must have been an outside job. You will tell me who has helped you,"_ he commanded and she felt a violent jab inside her skull almost as if she had a sudden headache.

She blocked him out, focusing on the dirt beneath her fingernails until the headache faded. She didn't know why she didn't just blurt out Draco's name but it didn't seem right plus she didn't actually know that it was him who helped her. She knew he had been here but there was only a tenuous image in her head of him healing her and she wasn't positive it had actually occurred. A smaller part of her said she wouldn't betray him and no matter how awful he'd been to her in the past, he'd shown her a kindness.

"_Disgusting,"_ he commented apparently having only received her fingernail examination and strode forward. She tensed, but could not see his movement above her for her gaze was forced to the ground. She flinched as she felt a finger touch her neck and run down her spine idly. She trembled reflexively and felt vulnerable. Draco hadn't returned her sweatshirt and she was left in the tank top. It was filthy and far to thin and she could feel him run slowly over every one of her vertebrae. She had no idea why he was doing it but the simple action made her gut clench in alarm. He stopped at her lower back and a faint rustling of his robes told her he had bent down. She could feel his breath on her neck and she tried in vain to shy away but found she couldn't move.

"_Dear Hermione, I don't need a wand to make you suffer beyond your wildest nightmares so it would be prudent if you were to tell me who helped you. Perhaps then you won't have to suffer…as much…I would even consider leaving your pitiful dreams alone," _he whispered into her ear, his words barely audible_._

"Never," she replied defiantly. She had no way to fight back other than her words and there was no way in hell she would ever give in. She'd never break before him. She was stronger than that.

"_That's unfortunate,"_ he responded but the obvious tone of glee said differently. Suddenly invisible bonds wrapped around her wrists and yanked her upright again and dragged her flush to the wall. Her pain became nearly unbearable and she grimaced in an effort to keep from shrieking as her very bones protested the rough treatment. The invisible manacles held her to the wall but she was still able to stand. Her shoulders screamed as the unnatural lift left her muscles shaking but she stoically refused to show her thoughts. His face came into view and his smile scared her more than anything he said or did. It was the maniacal smile of a sociopath and it occurred to her that she could refuse or relent but either way he would never have the mercy to kill her. The thought of torture made her shudder and his smile widened in response.

He came closer until she could feel the whisper of his robes against her but they did not quite touch. He lifted his hand to her temple and twisted a stray cur around one of his fingers and combed in back into her scalp, his fingernails dragging painfully through the knotted hair. He was too close for her to see anything but the eerie whiteness of the skin where his neck met his torso. He leaned down again to her ear, his hand drifted from her hair to roughly pull the nape of her neck to his mouth.

"_I see your secret helper removed my last marking. Pity for it was something I enjoyed giving to you. You have one last chance. Your lord is not usually so lenient but with you I'm willing to make an exception. Tell me who helped you and I'll consider benevolence."_

"No."

"_There is no one here to see your attempt at bravery. There is no one here to judge you for submitting to a superior force. Tell me and I will be compassionate."_

"I will not tell you. I will never tell you," she replied, each word needing to be forced. Her words were defying her basic instincts but she couldn't allow herself to believe he'd let her go. It wasn't possible and she would never forgive herself for weakness even if he were to be telling the truth. She refused to give in to him.

"_Impressive,"_ he breathed, the derisive tone unmistakable.

He drew back and looked down and she followed his gaze. He lifted a single finger and with one long nail drew a trail from the neck of her thin shirt to the hem. The material frayed neatly and tore along the line than disintegrated leaving her shivering and bare.

He smiled slowly and bent down. Her skin erupted in goose bumps and she shut her eyes willing this to all be a dream. The sudden blossoming of pain told her otherwise as he bit the skin of her collarbone. She could feel him breaking flesh and every molecule of her being longed to kill him for everything he had ever done and had yet to do. A lucid thought wondered why on earth he seemed so keen on biting her repeatedly but it was washed away with pain and rage. Her anger and fear was so intense that in an instant his mouth was ripped away and he was sent flying across the room. She opened her eyes at the sound and saw him staggering against the opposite wall, his face flushed with awesome and terrible fury.

He straightened up and drew his wand and her body began to convulse against the restraints as he subjected her to the crucio spell again and again and again. After an indeterminable amount of time as her mind started to drift away the spells stopped and he approached.

She watched him with listless eyes, her body still thrumming from the spell.

"_Your tenacity is amusing if not inspiring, but you will loose and I will enjoy watching you shatter no matter how long it takes," _he said, leaning in close, his gaze capturing hers. He bent lower and licked away the blood from earlier.

"_I couldn't resist the taste," _he mocked and pulled away.

He lifted a finger back and pressed against the new wound viciously and the spot erupted in fire like boiling oil had been pressed to her skin and was seeping under. She tried in vain to keep silent but the burning was too much and she shrieked as the sensation spread.

It quickly ended and he smiled than turned around and exited. This time he left her hanging there and her head drooped to her chest.

A fresh scream was released from her chest as she saw what he had done.

The wound was there still but over it was a patch of black that before her eyes dispersed under her skin into a writhing snake. It seemed to sense her gaze and it looked up and hissed at her as if it were alive. It mimicked the snake on the forearms of the death eaters, the same color ink and the macabre design without the skull.

The scream went on and on as the snake adjusted and coiled itself neatly, closing its eyes. She was unable to tear her eyes away and she watched fascinated as a rivulet of blood flowed from the new wound and took a path over the marking between the grime dripping down and staining her bra.

Her scream faded slowly as her parched throat gave up and turned into sobs. She began to cry in earnest and lost track of time, the tears now flowing silently. She wasn't quite awake or asleep and after a time a pang of cramps seized her abdomen and she realized if he didn't kill her the starvation would. She was going to die here eventually and she thought grimly, the sooner the better.


End file.
